Under the Cape
by edgeoftomorrow
Summary: Despite great writers, comics aren't taken seriously by many audiences. As all comics are considered part of one continuity it restricts options and, due sheer size, makes new readers leery. This is my attempt to make a self-contained story in a way that follows, more closely, a more modern narrative style of writing. PoV 3rd person; focus Batman. See inside for extended summary.
1. Roses are Red & I'm Singin' the Blues

**Title : Under the Cape**

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**Summary : A Narrative Primer  
**

This story follows Batman, still an urban myth at the story's beginning, and his founding of the Justice League in the wake of tragedy. His realization that no hero can do everything alone spurs him to action after an undefined period of depression. While vigilantes are somewhat commonplace many of them remain just legends, at least in the eyes of the general populace, and function locally. Metahumans are known to exist, but few are identified and the world isn't yet sure how to judge these beings. At this point in time the Flash, aka Barry Allen, Superman, aka Clark Kent, and Green Lantern, aka Hal Jordan, are generally well recieved and probably the only heroes known, across the globe, well.

It takes place in the mid-to-late 90s at the dawning of a new century, but, like some of it's comic written predecessors, has no specific time(s) identified. If I'm successful it should feel somewhat like the TAS versions, of DC, with hints of noir and a dose of reality. In essence I want to experiment with translating the comic industry model to a modern structure, of writing, while keeping some old school charm. I've left the past open on purpose so that either A) You can plugin the blanks with what you know about the characters from other publications, or B) I can slowly fill in the blanks as the story progresses, or C) Because a bit of ambiguity can sometimes add more depth than actually knowing.

Will there be character death? Maybe, but rarely if (beyond the first), as it is unrealistic for such things to never happen and it voids any suspense that might be built up, or already be present, from the plot. At the same time, killing off dozens of characters is just depressing, even less realistic (to the contrary of what the Internet might tell you), and, if you watch anime and/or read lots of sci-fi (especially the older stuff), you know main-character genocide is just as predictable as the comic book industry ressurecting their dead characters around every turn. In fact my story starts off with the death of a character. This death is the initiating plot point of the story and the driving motivation for further actions within the story. Note that non-characters, or bystanders, are likely to be harmed, or killed, ocassionally (more so than the cartoon(s) at least).

I suppose it would also behoove me to make a couple more notices. There will be emotional, and possibly angsty/dramatic, moments, but nothing too mindscrew-ish. As this is an action/drama story there won't be any copulation on display here, though the possibility of suggestive themes and some minor romance later in the comic isn't entirely out of the question. I'm trying to keep it 'teen' for the widest audience (and, besides, I'm pretty bad at writing that kind of stuff anyway), while still netting the more 'mature' audiences.

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**Important**

As a side note, you'll notice that I have trouble keeping PoV, since my writing styling is somewhat poetic. I haven't written in a little while so please keep an eye out for those kind(s) of errors. Thanks and, well. . , enjoy!

For those of you who like music, for immersion, here's the opening append, on the Youtube address, for JLA : watch?v=ZAsDL7f3veM&html5

Speaking of WB, I don't own, nor do I gain any monetary value from, DC, Batman, Superman, or related copyrights or trademarks. Most proprietary content is owned by Detective Comics. Any OCs, although I probably won't intruduce any in this story, my plot ideas, and my writing, do, of course, belong to me where applicable without conflict to their ownership or rights (or as prohibited by FanFiction).

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**Chapter 1 : Roses are Red & I'm Singin' the Blues**

Not a creature stirs in the night, no, not a single sound, except that, in these gloaming hours late into the eve, no one can sleep. The air is still, but a storm brews, or perhaps it's eye has already arrived and the worst has yet to come.

Most every flag, at half-mast, flutters within the breeze. For this day hope has died. Yet, in a small cemetery, a few miles aside, a lone shadow stands in the bittersweet twilight rueing the day, that had just passed, yet still lingered into the black of this darkest night. His tapered cowl, and fluttering mantle, illumined, by flashes of lightning, a man that many would consider emotionless, perhaps even stoic, can be seen weeping, his tears indistinguishable through the deluge of rain, over an empty casket. But, not even the rumbling of thunder can conceal the sobs that wrack his shuddering frame.

Already buried, beneath his feet, the silt, and the mud, this coffin has but one wooden post adorned with a florid, tattered, ensign. Emblazoned across it, already at disparity with the dull tone of the cemetery, is the symbol of a most ancient and noble house. A sanguine rose, once clutched in his bleeding and thorn-ridden grasp, falls upon the soil below. Hours seem to pass before it's descent. A scene outside a theater plays in the caped figures mind, again, and again. A tragedy which never should have been allowed to happened. Yet Again! Why?

Had his crusade been for naught?

An almost inhuman scream rattles from betwixt his jowls. They were night and day, the sun and the moon, but they understood one another like no other could, or ever would. Despite their dissimilarities they were the same. They both aspired to ideals purer than any other. Justification no longer needed for their hopes or dreams.

No. How could he give up now? His friend, and maybe perhaps the only person he ever looked up to, had given his very lifeblood. No! His fist clenches, and his figure straightens. His narrowed eyes gleam in the flickering lightning, as the storm picks up tempo, with his resolve once more stolid. Unbreakable! He must steel his heart against the coming tide. There mightn't be any justice for man, but he is more than just a man! For, he is vengeance. He is the night. He is Batman!

Perhaps hope hadn't yet died. Yes, it was still there. And he knew what must be done, so that no other should live through such tragedy again. He would organize others like himself, dedicated to preserving mankind, and strike evil at it's heart. Yes. . ., he would egress from shadow, no longer the scalpel, but the hammer.

Slipping out of the cemetery Batman begins contemplating his plan. A billionaire he could fund a headquarters, a gathering place, anywhere. The stars, yes, he would reach for the stars his ally had once come from. A station in satellite every hero, and every citizen, worldwide could depend on to answer in time of need.

He had been far too focused on Gotham City to see the larger picture. And Dick was ready to move out and fight the good fight on his own. Had he been too stubborn with the boy? No, his controlling nature was necessary to mentor him, but that didn't mean he shouldn't let go now. He also still had Barbara to rely on for the defense of Gotham. She had already almost fully recovered from the Joker's attack due to the Lazerous Pits. And with Rhas, and his daughter Talia, no longer a threat the prince of crime will be the only real trouble for her.

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Already requisitioning the necessary parts, for the multi-billion dollar station, Batman types away at the console in a cavern below Wayne Mansion. Despite the abundance of bats, and earthen walls, it is nearly spotless and, due to the electronics everywhere, obviously state of the art. Just behind the front of this grotto, where he sits in front of a holographic screen, a museum of sorts, filled with various objects from his exploits, fills the area. Deeper into the cave a large disconnected platform, suspended over a chasm, has a sleek black car with what looks like a jet engine, at it's back, and, perhaps most strangely, no discernable windows or doors.

Only the occasional chittering of the bats can be heard between his keystrokes, the near silence broken shortly by the echoing of heavy footsteps. A shadow is cast upon the glow of Batman's computer by this new figure. It is his most loyal ally, friend, and guardian; his butler Alfred Pennyworth. Alfred, descending from the walkway down from Wayne Manor, notices his ward passionate, and perhaps feverish, about his night job. For the longest time he had worried about his ward's dour mood and that it might take a more serious turn. If he weren't old, and so very very grey, he might have gained a spring to his step at the sight. Instead his steps become ever so more sprightly.

While not his normal self, the improvement was sufficient to make the butler grin and, of course, deliver his, always ever present, snark in style. "Busy night again, Bruce? I don't suppose you will have the time eat a proper meal?"

After a moment of silence, and a pause at the keyboard, the beginnings of a rare smirk can be seen on Batman's face, gone almost as soon as it came, before he cracks his knuckles and resumes. "Hardly Alfred, I've only just begun."

A twinkle in his eye, and as deadpan and dry as ever, Alfred can only respond, "Yes, well, you can hardly do any good if you are not properly rested Mr. Wayne. In spite of that, it is quite good to see you back to your old brooding self."

A grunt, followed by a grumbled "Yes, Mr. Pennyworth," is his only response, as Alfred turns around to ascend, the stairways, to the manor. The first rays of dawn can be seen, shining aside a wooden panel, for a moment as he leaves the cavern. Batman would have to speak to his protégés first, but who should he attempt to bring into the fold first? He had records for dozens, upon dozens, of vigilantes, in addition to metahumans; many of them with up-to-date locations and real identities. The Flash or the Green Lantern already had good press. . .

Or perhaps, first, he should find a way to condemn Clark's murderer, Lex Luthor, to prison. And, preferably, indefinitely if he had any say on the matter. He was even tempted to falsify evidence if it would send that bastard to jail, but that would become a slippery slope quickly. Even if Luthor bought his way out of prosecution, and multiple times at that, two wrongs wouldn't make a right, or could they? It was rumored, no confirmed, that the man was now gearing up to run for the presidential office. Should he make an exception for the murderous, killer of Clark, and corrupt businessman.

Luthor's instatement, as the most powerful man within the United States, could herald a new age of corporate abuse and, worse yet, it would most likely prevent him from assembling a team to oppose extraordinary threats. It wouldn't be surprising if the man set up a taskforce to expose, and exterminate, metahumans. And, without Superman, the world was in grave danager. The invasion of Darkseid was perhaps the worst incident in human history. Tens of thousands had died in that attack, despite the kryptonian's intervention. It didn't help that the military was attacking both of them, instead of just Darkseid, at the time. Superman. . . Batman, a sneer upon his face (from the mere thought of Luthor), slams his fist down upon the console, in front of him, muttering, "Clark. . , what would you have done?"

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**to be continued . . .  
**

How will Batman solve this moral conundrum? Should he break his principles? Find out in the next chapter, **Opening a Can of Cats**, featuring Batgirl, Catwoman, and Robin. Holy Exclamations, Batman! What suspense!

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	2. Opening a Can of Cats

**Title : Under the Cape**

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**Chapter 2 : Opening a Can of Cats**

A business in the middle one of the grandest, and most technologically advanced, cities in the world, Metropolis, resides in one of the highest, and most decadent, towers of glass and steel to grace the city. Within it a large modern office, accented with dark woods and the sparse decoration, can be found.

At the end, nearest the wall of a window, a lone desk covered haphazardly in papers, and unidentifiable technological baubles, sits. A balding, no completely bald, middle-aged man sits upon a cushioned computer chair.

Whether it's his twitching eyebrows, the snarl not quite present on his face, or the gleam in his eyes, it isn't hard to tell this irascible CEO is annoyed, angry, or maybe even both. Luthor, the owner of this behemoth of a tower and perhaps the richest man in the world, soon stands up his fists clenched and supporting his slight leaning against his desk.

Suddenly, his rage visibly reaching it's climax, "Aargh!"

A single exclamation and his face is once more unreadable, the looming man's countenance unmarked by his seething choler no longer. Luthor was in a jam. And he wasn't sure how to get out of it. Someone was buying up stocks and snatching nearly half of his deals mere days before he planned. And he had swept his office, and home, for bugs. Finding nothing. How the hell were they doing this? Did they have contacts planted in his company? His secretary had always been a scheming bi. . .

A knock at the door interrupts his internal diatribe. Straigtening up his suit, walking unharried, he opens the door. To his surprise, especially since he had, oddly, never had dealings with the billionare, was none other than Bruce Wayne himself.

They had met, only in brief, at events and fundraisers. He was perhaps the only other man in the country with as much money as himself. No, scratch that, but he would be if he didn't spend it on girls, partying, and being overly charitable.

Why hadn't his secretary called him? She could either after something or assumed a person of such importance had been scheduled. Then again, he'd heard Wayne could be persuasive with that pocket book of his. The only thing looser than his wallet was his tongue. And in more ways than one.

Ugh. . . Wayne probably charmed, and even bedded, his secretary to get in (on probably not but a whim). His face didn't show any of this, except for perhaps the slighest bit of suprise, before he smiled graciously, "What a pleasent suprise Mr. Wayne, is there something I can do for you?"

The clean-shaven man, gesturing towards the desk, simply answered, "I'm not quite sure. May I?"

"Yes, of course, I apologize for my lack of hospitality."

"Not a problem Mr. Luthor, no apology is needed at all. I should be apologizing for meeting you without calling first. I was in Metropolis, on vacation, and I realized that I hadn't introduced myself very well in all these years."

Luthor pulled seat out, across from his desk, before seating himself opposite of his guest who shortly followed with a most innocent smile on his face. Luthor could only wonder what he was really here for. It was unlikely his fellow tycoon was just here to talk, and be pals over a drink, but he had heard, through the grapevine, Wayne was somewhat of an eccentric.

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Nearly gagging in the sulfurous atmosphere of what looks to be the inside of a series of building vents a shapely, sensous, women adorning form-fitting black leather, tauter than her nerves, slinks. Well, as much as she can in spite of being within the passage's uncomfortable tightness.

Perhaps the strangest features on her, making her look like a character out of a cosplay, are her goggles, over her eyes, and cowl, which tapers into animal ears. Her mouth, which is the only part of her visible, is twisted into a mocking scowl, despite there being nobody to watch her mockery.

"Sneak into McBaldy's lair, while Batman distracts him. What could be so hard about that?" she couldn't help but mutter, snidely, under her breath.

He certainly wouldn't have the best security, after all he's only a billionare. Her eyes rolled at her own sarcasm. Still, she was suprised to find the building still had traversable vents and wasn't rigged with motions sensors out the wazoo.

That didn't make the cat burglar's job any easier, especially since some of the floor's vents were entirely disconnected from the other floor's, some rooms were locked down and required seperate keys or codes to entery, and the spandex, beneath her leather jumpsuit, was beginning to reak of sweat and plastic. Just gross.

Why in the name of Bastet had she chosen this costume? Oh, right, flexibility and sex appeal. Though she wasn't sure how much of either mattered here. There was hardly any room to be flexible and she doubted that looking like a soaked feline, not to mention smelling like a product mold, was very attractive anyway.

Yes, Catwoman wasn't happy. Just because Mr. Broody and her knew one another's identities and she'd gone clean, mostly. . ., didn't mean he could come to her whenever he needed a sneak-thief for some abnormally dangerous job. Well, at least he was paying her, and underneath the table to boot!

She paused her sidling as an amusing thought struck her. There were bats in Lex's belfry. Barely containing her giggles, and continuing on, she finally nears the exit to the floor above that previous.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

Meanwhile, in Luthor's office, "Some champaign Mr. Wayne?"

Nodding his head, to the affirmative, he answers in turn, "Please, call me Bruce. My father was Mr. Wayne."

"Ah, of course. Then, please, just call me Luthor."

Luthor quickly finds two glasses, and a bottle of champaign, which he fishes out from his desk drawers. Pouring them each a glass, and handing one to Bruce Wayne, he can't help but be curious, "What is it you need of me, ah. . ., Bruce?"

Leaning forward on the desk, in a pensive 'thinker's position' with a worried look on his face, he inquires, "Several businesses have suddenly dropped deals on me and I've caught word you might be having trouble as well."

Debating on how to respond, not sure of Bruce Wayne's game, he carefully studies the other man's face. The man was certainly shrewd, but he was still a playboy, at heart, and it would stand to reason he would come to a more experienced businessman, such as himself, for advice. Still, realizing it would be better to be careful, he responds, "I assume you have some sort of suggestion, or proposal, in the works. Or are you just here seeking for the counsel of a fellow entrepreneur?"

A surprised credulous look, shortly covered over by his mask again, is followed by, "Both actually. If the person, or company, that is involved has targeted both of us, then they are likely pursuing others as well."

"Hmm. . ., Yes that would make sense. By chance, are any of them other companies you are aware of? With the soirées, that you go to, you ought to have access to more rumors on this matter."

Suprising Lex Luthor, with a hearty laugh and a contented smile, he responds, "I hardly remember half the evening of most events. And that's if I'm not late dealing with other matters."

Right, other matters. . . He means cavorting about the glitterati and taking vacations while being so inebriated he can't tell the difference between a restaruant and hotel. Seriously, spooning with a waitress in a restaurant fish tank! Relax, Lex, and remain civil. He has resources I don't, just like I have some he doesn't. "Well I think it best if we both look into this matter more, as discreetly as possible, before actually comparing notes. Any sudden moves and the advantage is lost."

His face showing dismay, he stands up across from Lex Luthor to shake hands, and apologizes, "Sorry for wasting your time with so little information. If it's right by you, then, I'll take my leave."

Standing, shaking his proffered hand alongside an appeasing smile, he answers in turn, "No, no, it's fine. If more than one businessmen is being targeted, Bruce, then at least we know it's probably not personal."

"Of course, and thank you," he replies before letting himself out.

Lex Luthor, sitting back down, is certainly worried. After all, someone buying out underneath large businesses, such as himself, must be trying to take over, and dominate, the market. But, how can a small company have the resources to do that? But, on the other hand, a larger company, with said resources, shouldn't be able to hide such transactions as well as they have been able.

Was someone in his company embezzling? It wasn't uncommon, in big business at least, and it was entirely possibly, if unlikely, for both of them to have been dealing with that same thing at the same time.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

The door closing behind her, Selina, or Catwoman as she is known in costume, leaps, and shimmies, up the railing between floors. A few floors up a door opens, revealing a gaurd on night patrol, whom she hangs over precariously.

His flashlight, now turned to aim up in her position, the gaurd finds nothing and continues on his patrol. Having hidden herself, a floor up, she silently swivels about the railing and drops down to catch the door, before it closes completely, and slip through. All with nary a sound.

Now came the toilsome part. Using a lanyard, which she had previously pilfered off the sleeping gaurd (at the reception desk), she finds it doesn't work. "Damn," she hisses, before picking the lock with the card.

In the dimly lit room are rows, upon rows, of files and folders. "Why can't he just use a server, to store his dealings, like everyone else. . ."

Alright, some photos of the records, and I'm out of here. Hopefully nobody shows up, especially one of the gaurds on patrol. Yeah, way to tempt fate Selina. Tall, dark, and handsome had better be happy or, snickering as the thought comes to her, she might just slip some guano in the folder before she passes it off.

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Finally, swinging by her whip onto a nearby rooftop, our slinking feline fatale meets her contact. Or contacts she corrects herself, when she notices two silhouettes. "Really, he couldn't even drop by to pick it up himself?"

Batgirl, not quite as dark or imposing as the Batman with with her suit's purple and yellow highlights, just scowls and whines, "No, and I was supposed to have tonight off too. I just started college, but if I'm out every night I'm gonna end up flunking."

The black haired boy beside her, dressed in the signature red suit of Robin (with a big yellow 'R' across his left breast) and domino mask, snickered. Only to take a hit from Batgirl right in his shoulder. "Ow, what was that for!"

Rolling her eyes, she turns to Catwoman and pouts, "and I also have to put up with this - she gestures toward robin - all night, every night, too. I thought he was supposed to be the sidekick."

"Hey!"

Catwoman, having just raised an eyebrow at their antics, soon states airily, with a sly and sultry, "Oh, to be a teenager in love again."

"Eeeew," is Dick Grayson's response, to dating Barbara, alongside her simultaneous yell of, "Hey, what's wrong with me?!"

Paling quickly, in the face of her glare, he spits the words out, "But, you're more like a sister to me!"

"Mmhm. . ."

"Ah, ha ha ha um. . ., where'd Catwoman go off to?"

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**to be continued . . .**

How will Batman's legal, if dastardly, plan work? And how will his other plans affect the soon to not be dynamic duo and friends? Find out in the next chapter, **An Empty Roost**. Holy Shark Repellent, Batman! What suspense!

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